


A Fine Romance

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [25]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Kitchen Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: @winchesterxgirl--prompt: Bob Burgers’ quote: “She’s so bland that if she was a spice, she’d be flour.”I made it a sequel toShouldn't You Be With Boothby?
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484168
Comments: 41
Kudos: 405





	1. A Fine Romance

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing!

“Fuck,” Darcy said, staring at the egg she’d just dropped on the floor of what she thought of as _her_ kitchen in Norway. It had cracked, spreading a gooey, bright yellow yolk across the linoleum. “I hate my life,” she announced to the empty room, closing her cookbook with a thump and mopping up the egg with a fistful of paper towels. The egg yolk oozed messily as she wiped. It was hard to clean up something with this kind of consistency. Staring at the shiny residue on the floor, Darcy started to cry. She’d been dumped. Ian had dumped her after six years together. She couldn’t believe it was happening. Darcy had planned to bake snickerdoodle scones tonight. She normally baked something every Saturday. Ian had always said he didn’t mind that she snuck off to bake things in this small, communal kitchen in zone B while everyone else partied and watched TV in another sector. She liked her alone time in the space she’d carved for herself and Ian ate her food, after all. But he’d dumped her for a SHIELD agent. Chloe. Chloe who worked in the analytics division of this secret base and hung out with everyone while Darcy listened to podcasts and experimented with brownie batter. She slid to the floor, crying.

That was where Brock Rumlow found her. “Hey,” he said, “what’s going on?” He sometimes visited her when she was in the kitchen. Hung around. Flirted a little. But she was loyal to Ian. And Rumlow never pressed for anything more than teasing conversation, a sympathetic ear, and the occasional paleo cookie. Not even all that frequently; he was funny about food.

“Ummm,” Darcy began, “I dropped an egg--” She gestured. She hadn’t told anyone yet, not even Jane.

“C’mere, get up,” Rumlow said. He lifted her up and walked her over to a chair, holding her waist. Darcy wiped roughly at her eyes as she sat down.

“I was making scones. Did you want a scone?” she said, trying to be normal.

“What’s got you upset?” he said.

“Ian and I broke up. I haven’t told anyone yet,” she said. “He’s dating Chloe from analytics now. He dumped me.” 

“Asshole,” Rumlow said, looking unsurprised. 

“Did you know?” Darcy said.

“There were rumors they were a little flirtatious,” he said, frowning.

“And you didn’t tell me?” she said. He shrugged. 

“Rumors are rumors. People also think you’re secretly having a fling with me,” he said dryly. “I knew that wasn’t true. Where’s your liquor?”

“What are you doing?” Darcy said, as he moved around the kitchen.

“Getting you a drink,” he said, then frowned at her bowl of half-made scone batter. “And making scones, it looks like. How do you make fucking scones?”

“People think we’re having an affair?” Darcy said.

“Yes. You want amaretto and coffee?” he asked.

“Whoa,” Darcy said. “Okay, sure, amaretto.” He hit the button on the coffee maker. The sound of the coffee brewing was pleasant, she thought. Darcy looked at him. “An affair, really? People think I’m a girl who has _affairs?”_

“Oh yeah,” Rumlow said, sloshing in amaretto and half and half. “We’re having a passionate, secret fling between my missions. You’ve been carrying on with me for weeks. We’re having sex right now. You’re wildly in love with me, but I can’t be tamed.” Darcy snorted.

“My gossip life is so much more interesting than my real life,” she said.

“That what you think?” Rumlow said wryly, passing her the coffee.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “The scone recipe is page eighty-four.” She watched as he worked on the batter and then looked at him quizzically. “What does that mean? You think my real life is more exciting?” she asked. He grinned. “What?” Darcy said.

“It’s Saturday night and you’ve got me making goddamned baked goods, sweetheart,” Rumlow said. “And I don’t even get to see you naked.” Darcy laughed.

“Seriously?” she said. 

“Play some of that old girly music you like,” he said.

“Edith Piaf or Annette Hanshaw?” Darcy asked. He shook his head at her, chuckling. “No opinion?” Darcy said.

“No opinion,” he said, in a way that suggested he couldn’t stand either one. 

“Okay, I’m going with Marilyn Monroe instead,” Darcy said, selecting a playlist.

“That’s Marilyn Monroe?” he said.

“Yup,” Darcy said. 

“Did she just sing a line about something in a guy’s pants?” Brock said, raising his eyebrows.

“Yup,” Darcy said, giggling. “Serge is a kind of fabric. I assume you mess up the ironed-in crease when you take a guy’s pants off.” She sighed. “Ian never wore pants like that, thank God, because I’m lousy at it.”

“I’m going to assume you mean ironing and not taking them off,” Rumlow said dryly.

“Obviously,” Darcy said. “You know that. We’re having sex right now. I probably took your pants off twenty minutes ago or something.” Rumlow snorted. “I cannot believe he left me for Chloe. She’s so boring, right?”

“Yes,” he said. 

“She’s so boring, if she were a spice, she’d be--?” Darcy said, pausing.

“Allspice?” Rumlow offered.

“Flour! I was going to say flour. Why would you say allspice?” Darcy asked. “What’s wrong with allspice?”

“What the fuck is it? It’s just there,” he said, wrinkling his nose. 

“You know what I hate? Anise,” Darcy said. 

“Anise cookies are good,” Rumlow argued.

“Are you high?” Darcy said.

“They’re good!” he insisted. “You never had pizzelle cookies?”

“Nope,” Darcy said. “Make me some, then.”

“What?” Brock said.

“Make me those cookies,” she said. “You’ve been hanging around the kitchen for weeks, you know how to make a cookie.”

“You want me to make you cookies now?” Rumlow said.

“I make you stuff!” Darcy said.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Try Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration struck when I saw this:
> 
>   
> 
> 
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Fuck,” Brock swore loudly, as the edge of the hot pizzelle iron caught the side of his wrist. He dropped it onto the counter with a clang. He didn’t see Darcy standing at the edge of the secondary kitchen in their hidden SHIELD facility in Norway until she spoke.

“I had no idea it would come to this,” Darcy said, clearly surveying the mess. There were bowls of batter and ingredients strewn across the countertops. “It was just a harmless hobby, Director Fury, I have no idea what happened to make Commander Rumlow lose his mind.” Her voice was full of feigned innocence.

“Be quiet, I’m making these fucking pizzelles for you, woman,” he grumbled. He stopped to run his wrist under cool water at the sink.

“Are you hurt? Do you need a Band-Aid?” she said, moving over and wincing at the red mark visible on his skin.

“No,” he said. “I’m fine. See? The serum’s gonna clear that up in no time, Lewis.”

“Why not use the pizzelle maker I ordered?” she said. “It’s from Bed, Bath, & Beyond! I had them do the express shipping and cleared it with Maria and everything.” The wafflemaker-style press sat on the far end of the counter, still gleaming. “You don’t need to suffer for me to have a cookie, okay?” Her voice was less sarcastic this time. He felt the corners of his mouth go up.

“I’m sure it’s nice,” he admitted, “but it’s not authentic, sweetheart. Doesn’t taste the same.” 

“Burns from an old iron you tracked down at a weird little shop are better?” Darcy said, sighing. “I think you’re obsessing.” 

“Me? Obsess? Never,” he said wryly. It was true that he was getting a little, well, fixated. When he’d explained that pizzelles were made with a press, like waffles, Darcy had googled them and discovered that you could buy electric pizzelle makers now. So, she’d surprised him with one. But they didn’t taste like he remembered from his childhood. They’d made adjustments to the batter, searched out different recipes, even sourced anise extract from Italy. Still no dice. Then he’d decided to track down an old-fashioned pizzelle iron that you used on the stovetop. He was lucky that Norwegians made similar waffles--krumkake--so he’d found an antique-style press locally. “It was an antique shop and Anders would be highly offended to hear you thought his place was weird,” he told her with mock sternness.

“It had creepy dolls!” Darcy insisted. He chuckled.

“You just have a phobia of dolls,” he said, moving over to stir the batter. 

“I’m a healthy person, it’s a healthy phobia,” she muttered. She watched him for a moment. “What attempt is this?” Darcy said. She raised her eyebrows when he hesitated. 

“Uhh,” he said.

“Don’t toy with me, I know you’re good with numbers,” she said, as he spooned batter into the hot iron. It sizzled. 

“Fifteen,” he muttered, voice low. He pressed the iron’s plates together. The smell of baking cookies rose in the air.

“Mmmm,” Darcy said, inhaling. He could hear the pleasure in her voice. “Can I actually eat these or are you going to throw them away again before I get to try them?” she said.

“I’ll let you try these,” he said. “I used European butter in the batter this time.”

“Ooooh,” Darcy said. “Fancy and yummy.”

“There’s prosecco in the fridge,” he told her. 

“Is that traditional?” she said. 

“I know how you feel about prosecco,” Brock said. She went to the fridge and opened the bottle, pouring two glasses with a little whoop of delight. He grinned. She took a sip and smiled at him.

“I think it’s very sweet of you to incur injury and buy prosecco for me,” Darcy said. “Just so I can try good pizzelles.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said. “A minute ago, you said I was crazy.”

“No, I said obsessive. There’s a difference,” she said. “But I’ve decided it’s charming.”

“What changed your mind?” he asked. 

“This is really good prosecco and those cookies smell amazing,” she said, then smiled around her glass. 

“Uh-huh,” he said taking out the first set of pizzelles. The fuckers were fragile. She reached for them. “No,” he scolded. “They’re hot and they need to cool to get crispy.”

“I might know that if you ever let me have some,” she complained.

“You want some of my cookies?” he teased. That threw her off--she laughed, but was blushing, he noticed. That made him feel slightly smug.

“Quit messing with me. Everyone in this facility thinks I’ve had the cookies,” Darcy said, huffing out air. “And no one believes me when I tell them I haven’t had a cookie in weeks, much less your cookies.” She waved her prosecco glass. “They just laugh and say, ‘yeah, sure, Darcy’ like I’m some kind of lying liar who lies? And who would lie about not getting any?”

“Are we still talking about cookies?” he asked.

“Noooo,” she said, “I mean, sort of, yes, the cookies are metaphorical and symbolic.”

“Uh-huh. Get me that powdered sugar,” he said. She handed him the box, so he could fill the sifter. “Metaphorical and symbolic? It can be both?” he asked, tapping sugar into the silver cylinder. 

“You sound like Jane,” Darcy said. “Don’t you go all seminar essay on me.” He laughed at her vexed expression.

“Never,” he said. “Play some music for me?”

“Okay,” she said. “Who?”

“What about some Marian Hill?” he suggested, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“I can’t believe I have music you actually like,” she said, messing with her phone until the speaker on the countertop started to play. “You got flour on my travel speaker,” she said, with more amusement than anger. He grinned at her.

“Have some more prosecco,” he said.

“The cookies aren’t ready?”

“Nope,” Brock said. He stepped over to stand behind her and whisper in her ear. “The thing about good things is that you can’t rush ‘em.”

“What if I want to rush?” she said.

"I'm running the show tonight," he said. "You just relax, everything's good." 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone should check out Marian Hill, her music is amazing. Totally. New fave.


End file.
